


Inside of You

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (if demons can get PTSD), Cannibalism, Cannibalism Play, Consensual Kink, Kinda, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Non-fatal vore, Poor Crowley, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective vore, Protectiveness, Snakes, Stress Relief, TW: Vomit, Traumatized Crowley, Vore, consensual cannibalism, snake biology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-22 07:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19663048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Aziraphale finds himself in an...unexpected predicament, and is surprised to find that he likes it.





	Inside of You

**Author's Note:**

> What are tenses?
> 
> Rated Mature for MAJOR kink stuff. You've been warned. Everything's tagged as well as it can be. 
> 
> I blame my partner completely for this. 
> 
> Am I officially vore trash? I have no idea.

Later, sitting surrounded by acid in a foul-smelling place, Aziraphale would wonder how exactly he got himself into such a predicament.

It had all started when Crowley received a missive from Hell. The first one since Aziraphale, inhabiting Crowley’s body, had told them to leave him alone.

Crowley groaned like a dying thing, sprawling out on the sofa even more than usual, letting the note drop to the floor. “One of my old contacts wants to speak with me.”

Aziraphale sat up in his chair. “Is that bad?”

Crowley sighed, massaging his temples. “She wants me to go to Hell to meet her. Hastur’s supposed to meet me and lead me to her.”

“You’re not going, surely?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes wide.

Crowley shrugged. “What choice do I have? They’ll storm my flat if I don’t.” But he looked reluctant, tired and pale. Since the almost end of the world, Crowley had found himself unraveled at his very core. He was no longer an unflappable demon; he had frequent nightmares and what could possibly count as panic attacks, if demons were capable of getting panic attacks. He’d suffered loss, and though it wasn’t permanent loss, the angel could tell that the bookshop fire had left permanent damage on Crowley.

“I can’t let you go alone.” Aziraphale puffed out his chest, standing up resolutely. “I’m going with you!”

Crowley regarded Aziraphale tiredly. “I can’t let you do that. They could kill you!” He sat forward, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ll have to…” He coughed, sounding like he was gagging, and then it was a deep, hoarse cough. The angel immediately sat beside him, running his hands down Crowley’s spine, soothing him. Crowley was trying to regurgitate out of stress, but since they hadn’t had lunch yet, his stomach was empty, so nothing was going to come up. Once the healing from Aziraphale’s gentle touch started to kick in, Crowley moaned, leaning heavily on the angel. “I don’t want them to sense you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and small. “They’ll take you away from me.”

“Well, what if I was small?” Aziraphale asked, running his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I could shrink myself down to fit in your pocket. My Grace wouldn’t be as easy to sense, then, and you’re going to smell like Grace anyway from hanging around me so much.”

After a moment of thought, Crowley brightened, sitting up and smiling. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” Aziraphale replied. “I’d do anything to keep you safe. Besides, in an emergency, it might be helpful to have an angel in your pocket!”

Crowley chuckled. “Okay. Are you ready?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and concentrated on the size he wanted to be. After all, size is relative to angels and demons, and shape is merely preference or convenience. When Aziraphale opened his eyes, Crowley was towering over him like a giant, looking anxiously through his dark glasses. 

“Are you feeling all right?” Crowley asked in what must have been his normal speaking voice, but it was so loud that Aziraphale shrank away from it. “Sorry,” Crowley said much quieter, holding out his hand, cupped gently upwards. 

“That’s all right, love,” Aziraphale tried his best to project without shouting, climbing onto Crowley’s palm. “Maybe we should communicate telepathically, however.”

‘Good idea,’ Crowley said inside his mind. Aziraphale chuckled, climbing carefully into Crowley’s pocket.

~

The demon stood at the entrance to Hell, his heart beating as fast as it dared. Aziraphale, who could feel and hear Crowley’s heartbeat, poked his head up out of the pocket. ‘Are you okay?’ They were still communicating telepathically, of course.

Crowley nodded. ‘Fine, yeah. It’s just been a long time since I’ve had to report to Hell.’

‘I’m right here with you, Crowley,’ Aziraphale replied, slipping back inside the demon’s pocket. 

Crowley took a deep breath and walked forward, straight into Hell.

~

Aziraphale couldn’t really understand what was going on from inside the pocket.

From being here before, he knew that Hell was noisy, full of demons shuffling from one place to the next, groaning like something out of a B-grade horror flick. The fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling (he just knew that they’d been an invention of Hell’s) made a buzzing noise like insects and even in the dark pocket, he could still see their flickering light. It was giving him a headache. 

Crowley was talking to Hastur, something about “losing his frog,” whatever that meant. Aziraphale shifted around inside the pocket though, apparently, that wasn’t the wisest decision. 

“What’s in your pocket Crowley?” Hastur’s voice was mocking, and Aziraphale could imagine the demonic grin on his face. “I thought I smelled a bit of Grace on you.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Crowley snarked. “I hang around with an angel. Of course I’m going to smell like Grace!” He started to reach for his pocket. “It’s probably a bug, or something. We were just walking past Beelzebub’s office.” 

Aziraphale took that as his cue to transform himself again, taking on the guise of a cockroach. (Maybe not the most heavenly bug out there, but, then again, he wasn’t in Heaven right now.) It was harder to maintain the transformation when he was already concentrating on body size, but it was better than giving them both away, especially because they were currently surrounded, and neither one of them was actually immune to Hellfire or Holy Water.

“See?” Crowley opened his palm. Aziraphale scuttled around under the lights, his insectoid eyes staring up at his demon and at Hastur. He saw the frog that seemed fused to the other demon’s head looking at him hungrily. “Can we get on with it now? I’m here to see a friend.”

“Eat it.” Hastur snarled.

Aziraphale nearly froze, still twitching his antenna. 

Crowley laughed, though it sounded a bit nervous. “I’m not very hungry, no thanks. I’ll just put it down somewhere, and—”

“No,” the Duke of Hell slid into Crowley’s personal space, pushing him against the slimy, dirty wall. Hastur was so close, Aziraphale could smell the swamp water scent of him. “It’s just a bug, right? So eat it.”

There was no getting out of this one. Aziraphale mentally sighed. ‘You have to do it, old friend.’

‘I’m really sorry about this.’ Crowley lifted his palm to his lips and opened his mouth. Aziraphale crawled inside and then changed back to a more familiar form. Almost as soon as he had done that, he felt Crowley swallow, his body pulled downward, surrounded by saliva and…was that venom?! Crowley’s mouth was venomous? Well, he supposed as he tried not to think about his journey downwards, some snakes did use venom to help with digestion.

By some miracle, demonic or otherwise, he simply arrived unceremoniously in Crowley’s stomach, landing amongst a bunch of bubbling acids. At least there was no half-digested food and, surprisingly enough, no groan that signified the digestive process. He knew Crowley was probably hungry, but as he used his Grace to look for weaknesses (in the hopes that maybe his corporeal body wouldn’t be digested by demonic stomach acids—what a way to be discorporated), he felt an unprecedented hunger.

“How long have you been starving yourself, Crowley?” Aziraphale wondered aloud. He realized too late that there was a possibility he would be heard, but considering he couldn’t hear anything except the bubbling of the acid around him and the thumping of the heart somewhere above him, he assumed no one would hear him, either. And if they did, Crowley would be able to pass it off as digestive noises.

The fact that Crowley was apparently starving, however, made Aziraphale uneasy. Even though occult and ethereal corporations tended to work differently than their human counterparts, the animal instinct to devour when hungry was still present in all of them.

‘Angel,’ The voice in his head was clear and as contrite as Crowley was capable of sounding, ‘are you all right? I know I didn’t exactly, um. Give you much warning.’

‘I’ve been better, but I’m not hurt,’ Aziraphale replied, deciding the best thing to do would be to separate himself from his body temporarily. It wasn’t something he often did—astral projecting, the humans called it—but he was more than capable. He wasn’t particularly concerned about his predicament; after all, he could simply miracle himself outside of Crowley with a thought. The only thing that was worrying was the digestive process. ‘The insides of humans are certainly nasty, however.’

‘Eugh. Thanks, angel, that’s appetizing.’ As Aziraphale floated upwards, he felt his surroundings creak and become still. It felt rather like when Crowley had stopped time, when he could feel the universe floating around him like static, like it would have shocked him to reach out and touch it. 

‘Crowley, what did you do?’

‘I stopped my digestive tract from doing what it was made to do. Your body won’t digest now.’

It was Aziraphale’s turn to feel queasy, which was surprising all on its own. He didn’t think his essence (soul?) could have feelings that were naturally occurring in his corporation.

‘I feel a little guilty, Aziraphale. I should’ve thought of something else.’

‘I did tell you to swallow me, dear boy,’ Aziraphale replied, sliding upwards to sit behind Crowley’s eyes so he could see what was going on. ‘It was better than being crushed by Hastur’s frog.’

‘That’s what I figured.’ Crowley’s mental voice sounded relieved. 

Aziraphale realized something. ‘I guess we can cohabitate.’

He heard Crowley snort. ‘Don’t make me laugh, angel. This is serious.’

‘Of course it is. You’ve just eaten me, while I was the size of a clothespin.’

‘I’m sure it’s someone’s fetish.’

It was Aziraphale’s turn to laugh. ‘You old devil.’

‘Thank you.’

Aziraphale sat just behind Crowley’s eyes, trying to see through his dark glasses. It probably wasn’t the time to mention the demon’s current state of starvation. After all, it might cause him to begin digesting subconsciously. ‘How on Earth do you see through these things in the dark?’

Crowley laughs aloud, and Aziraphale sees Hastur, in front of him (them?), turn around and give Crowley a Look.

“Thought of a joke,” Crowley explains aloud. “A demon and an angel walk into a bar…something like that.” His voice holds a mischievous smile, which Aziraphale loves.

‘Told you not to make me laugh, angel,’ Crowley complains, but it’s so mild that anyone would be able to tell he wasn’t really complaining.

‘Sorry, my dear. But honestly, I can’t see a thing!’

Aziraphale sees Crowley’s hands, and then the glasses in front of him. ‘Better?’

‘Thank you.’

~

‘Angel, I’m getting a terrible headache,’ Crowley tells him after some time. ‘Could you move around a bit?’

‘Yes of course, dear,’ Aziraphale shifts around so he’s closer to Crowley’s ear. ‘Better?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

While the position is undoubtedly better for Crowley, it’s worse for Aziraphale. He’s having trouble hearing and seeing without his body, and it’s taking a lot of concentration to do either. He supposes he could sleep, find a spot to curl up inside Crowley and take a nap (he doubts he could miracle a book into existence; sleep would have to do). 

It then occurs to him that maybe, just maybe, he can help Crowley out a bit.

He slides back down to rejoin his body, preparing himself mentally for what his senses might take in.

It’s worse.

His body is sitting in gastric acid that smells a little bit like human sick and also, vaguely, like burned wood. It’s not a pleasing combination. Worse yet, without him in it, his body had fallen over like a ragdoll, so the acid is sticking to his hair and his clothes, and his nice leather shoes have been ruined just by sitting in the acids, no matter how inactive.

Aziraphale spreads his wings. Even small and in the confined space, they seem to stretch out to fit the room. Crowley’s stomach seems to bubble and groan, and everything shifts slightly backwards after, what Aziraphale can only assume, Crowley presses a hand against it. 

‘What are you doing, angel?’ Crowley’s mental voice sounds accusatory. 

‘Trying to fix things,’ Aziraphale replies. ‘Just hang on.’

‘Aziraphale—!’

The angel flies upward, miracling himself clean. He does this while flapping in mid-air, being careful to make repairs to each object in turn. His injury senses indicate that Crowley’s stomach is upset, and that’s all the warning he gets before a rush of hot bile crashes into him, and he is violently expelled out the way that he came in.

Being vomited up is a far more unpleasant experience than being swallowed, or, even, sitting in gastric acid. Only his quick thinking managed to save Aziraphale from getting vomit in his eyes, nose, mouth, and lungs. He’s practically covered in it, and then, after he hits the open air again (which almost feels cold after the sweltering heat of Crowley’s body, except it’s never cold in Hell…except for certain circles), he’s submerged in water, and has to swim his way through bile that nearly makes him vomit himself. At the very least, his stomach churns dangerously. 

He barely manages to avoid the next wave, and he realizes, with immediate pity and guilt, that Crowley is vomiting. The retching sound is absolutely sickening and heart-wrenching, and Aziraphale can’t tell which is worse.

Carefully, the angel frees himself from the vomit-infused toilet water and flutters up to sit on the rim, cleaning himself up with a few quick thoughts. He still feels like he could be sick himself, but he’s far more worried about Crowley, who didn’t have much in his stomach to vomit up, anyway. The demon himself is crumpled up against the toilet, on his knees and shaking as he continues to retch. (Though, thankfully, that’s all it is now.) Aziraphale notices that, like most things in Hell, this restroom is filthy. He’s seen London train loos in the 1800s that looked cleaner than this! It makes him feel even worse for Crowley, who is no doubt smearing the muck of a thousand damned souls all over his nice trousers.

The retching dies down, and it’s only then that Aziraphale realizes Crowley is crying. It isn’t inconsolable sobbing, not really, more of a subdued and quiet kind of cry. But it’s no less heartbreaking, and Aziraphale immediately wishes he could become full size right now and hug Crowley tightly, telling him everything would be fine.  
Unfortunately, that isn’t an option, so Aziraphale settles for climbing up Crowley’s elbow and letting his slight weight be a comfort to the demon, along with quiet words.

“It’s okay,” he whispers in a voice only the demon can hear, “shh, you’ll be okay. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Crowley sighs, finally seeming to have calmed down. When he looks up at Aziraphale, his eyes are red-rimmed (with a bit of green sickeningly mixed in) and he looks far too gaunt in the cheeks, as if he’d just vomited up ten pounds of body weight. He flaps his arm up weakly to flush the toilet, and then shakily gets to his feet, letting Aziraphale stand on the edge of the toilet. Crowley falls back against the grimy wall littered with Sharpie writing in a variety of languages including something ancient and demonic that makes the angel’s head ache when he looks at them. Most of them say the sort of thing you’d expect in the restrooms of the damned (“For a good time call…”, “Hastur sucks eggs”, and “A demon of Lust and a demon of Gluttony fucked here”), which, really, must be the point of having them in the first place.

Crowley’s complexion is verging on gray, his lips and the space around his cuticles and the tips of his fingers blue-tinged as if he’s suffering from hypothermia. He’s hugging himself, breathing heavily, and one hand flies down to cradle his stomach, His eyes, when he finally opens them, fall on Aziraphale, and he looks beaten, all the shine gone out of them. It’s unsettling. 

For a moment, the only sound is the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above their heads. There’s a grunt and a toilet flush from a few stalls down (Crowley is in what appears to be the handicapped stall, judging by the spacious layout and the broken assistance bars that look like they could slice through even the toughest demon flesh). Whoever had been in the room doesn’t wash their hands, and the door creaks open, then squeaks closed.

“What were you thinking, angel?” Crowley pants at last. His voice is hoarse and quiet, wrecked by the forced regurgitation. “I…that...was awful, fuck…”

“I am truly sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale nervously wrings his hands together. “I thought maybe I could help you, so you didn’t have to hold your digestive system still…” He winces as Crowley shakes, his face going a bit yellow, before the nausea seems to abate. “What happened, dear boy?”

“Stress,” Crowley replied, closing his eyes tiredly, head lolling against the restroom’s tiled wall. “Your wings made my stomach do a flip and then turn inside out! I was trying to keep my digestive tract frozen, but my anxiety just skyrocketed all of a sudden, and…” His voice catches and he covers his mouth with his free hand. 

Aziraphale coos soothingly. He can imagine having celestial wings spreading inside your stomach (especially when you are a demon) would be very unsettling. And he’d been flapping them as well—! He feels incredibly stupid and, what’s more, worried he’s damaged Crowley even further. He reaches out his healing senses, and the information that he finds related to the demon’s well-being is far from good news; sore throat, numbness in his fingers and lips, a fierce headache… “I wasn’t thinking you might still be stressed, since I was with you,” the angel replies, folding his wings away. “I apologize. Are you well now?”

Crowley rolls his shoulders. “Can’t stay mad at you. Though I’ve been better, admittedly.” He closes his eyes again, as if he’s trying to hide them. More likely, he’s missing his sunglasses and too weak to miracle up a pair. Aziraphale does it for him; they’re a pair snatched from the spares he keeps in the Bentley, except the edges are decorated with angel wings instead of the usual pattern of holes. Crowley smiles, opening his eyes. “Thanks. These lights always bothered my eyes.”

“Mm. No wonder you like soft lights Topside.” Aziraphale smiles as Crowley laughs, glad to see the demon acting a bit normal.

Silence.

“But it wasn’t my Grace that made you ill?” The angel asks. “It was my wings?”

“Yeah.” Crowley wets his lips, a curious frown furrowing his brow. “I, er…as ssilly as it sounds…I rather liked you, erm…inside me.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale raises a cheeky eyebrow. 

Crowley lets out an uncertain little hiss and rubs his hand curiously over his stomach, the other joining it as he hums. Aziraphale finds himself drawn to the motion, even though, he realizes distantly, he’d much rather see the demon do that with a full stomach, or at least one that doesn’t look quite so much like Famine paid him a visit. “Yeah, uh…” He shrugs. “It was…nice. Warm and comforting, like I always feel around you, but instead of just being nearby, it was like it was coming from inside of me. Which it was. But…” 

“Maybe that’s what “full of Grace” was meant to mean,” Aziraphale ponders, mostly to get a laugh out of Crowley, which works, just as he knew it would. “Honestly, though…I guess it is safer than Blessing you. After all, that might make you implode.”

“Bleck,” said Crowley.

“And, well…” the angel shifted awkwardly, “I do think it’s easier…at least until we’re out of Hell.”

Crowley’s eyes widen. “You…want me to…?”

Aziraphale chuckles. Ever eloquent, our Crowley. “Yes, dear.”

“…again…?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale smiles. “It can’t be much worse than it was the first time, though I’d appreciate less venom this time around. Nasty stuff.”

“You’re sure, now?” Crowley holds out his hand so Aziraphale can step onto it. “There’s no going back. Until we leave Hell, I mean.”

“On one condition,” Aziraphale told him. “Well, maybe two. Don’t swallow until I say, and maybe make the ride a bit less…hasty. I know snakes swallow slowly, so just make sure I don’t crash land into your stomach. That wasn’t pleasant the first time.”

Crowley nods, ever obedient, lifting up Aziraphale towards his mouth, opening wide so the angel can step inside. His tongue acts as a sort of red carpet, and with his mouth stretched so wide, Aziraphale can’t even feel his teeth. 

Crowley waits for Aziraphale to sit before closing his mouth, and the angel is greeted with a dark, damp, but not altogether unwelcome, place. Crowley’s tongue is wriggling a little under him, and despite having just vomited, his mouth smells like cinnamon. 

‘I have to tilt my head back,’ Crowley warns. ‘You can spread your wings if you have to.’

‘It won’t upset you?’ Aziraphale doesn’t wish to make Crowley vomit again.

‘No. My mouth’ll taste like feathers, but I’ll live. Not like I’ve never eaten a bird whole before.’

Aziraphale feels the shift as Crowley tilts his head back, his tongue moving subconsciously forward. The angel is facing Crowley’s throat, a long, dark passage that, surprisingly, doesn’t elicit fear. More like…excitement. He likes making Crowley feel good, and the lengths he’ll go to are, apparently, great.

He does have to flutter back until he gets his balance, but he wills his wings away. Moisture is gathering in Crowley’s mouth, but there’s no venom this time. At a guess, Aziraphale supposes that Crowley’s already frozen his digestive tract so his instincts don’t view the angel on his tongue as a tasty morsel.

Hm. That makes him wonder, though… ‘What do I taste like?’

Crowley’s tongue gives him a few curious swipes. It’s a bit damp, but it reminds Aziraphale of Crowley’s serpentine form in a way. He giggles despite himself. ‘Mostly like your clothes. Cotton. Wool. I taste a bit of leather on your shoes. Your cologne, which is a bit sour. And like…crisp air, like on top of a mountain.’

‘Oh.’ Aziraphale tries to lie flat. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’

Crowley gulps audibly, the sound firm and loud in Aziraphale’s ears. The angel closes his eyes, just feeling the sensation this time. Crowley is indeed swallowing slowly, the lump that is Aziraphale traveling visibly down his throat. The angel can feel the demon tracing it with his finger. 

Crowley’s throat it wet and tight and he can feel the muscles moving around him, but it’s not…bad. This time, his entrance into Crowley’s stomach is a much softer landing. Mostly because…

Crowley can tell the minute Aziraphale hits his stomach, which is…odd. Mesmerized, he places his hand against his midsection, finding it tight and warm, and he muffles a soft belch. It’s so much better than before. He’s full of Grace and full of a larger meal than expected. (Though he’s hesitant to call his angel a “meal…” more like a willing passenger. Though he would refer to Aziraphale as a “tasty snac,” he meant it as slang and not literally.)

“Oh,” he sighs, licking his lips. “Oh, Aziraphale.” His voice is worshipful, he’s aware. But he’s also aware he would prostrate himself in front of the angel and pray to him, if that was what he desired. Especially after this, because holy shit. “Fuuuuck,” he hisses reverently, “can you make yourself bigger? I…oh, yes, that’s it, thank you. Mmm.” He closes his eyes, pressing experimentally against his belly. It’s poking out over his waistband now, stretched around the lovely, glorious, amazing angel sitting inside it, taut and warm. He feels sleepy, and he yawns despite himself. “We need to do this the next time I take a nap, angel,” he murmurs. 

He’s liking this a lot more than he feels like he should. It almost feels like a temptation, and he can’t forget the miracle he’s performing…!

A soft voice enters his mind: ‘I can handle that miracle. You just focus on getting through your business and getting us out of here.’

Crowley hums, rubbing a hand across his stomach one last time before he leaves the restroom, full and confident and loved.

~

Aziraphale, since he is performing a miracle, stays put inside his body. He also figures that his Grace will warm Crowley more evenly while he’s in his body, and poor Crowley’s palms had felt icy cold; he needed warmth. It’s why he was happy to oblige Crowley by changing his size. He’s now about the height of a teddy bear, and, he must say, that it’s actually nice in here, being a bit bigger than he was before. He’s not sure he…enjoys it, per se. And as much as Crowley might, this will only be for the most special of occasions. 

Though, he admits a curiosity to what it would feel like for Crowley to be full of food and full of him. Though that might require some doing; Crowley could be stubborn about eating when it suited him, which was very nearly always.

‘Leaving Hell now,’ Crowley says. He’s clearly enjoying this; he seems sad to give it up.  
‘I’ll stay until you get to yours, luv. Wouldn’t want anyone to freak out if I suddenly exit your body.’

‘…thanks, Aziraphale.’

Crowley takes a bit longer to drive to the penthouse than usual, but judging from the nerves Aziraphale can feel stewing all around him, Crowley is clearly worried about enjoying this. He seeks to soothe where he can, and waits until Crowley gives him the all clear to miracle himself free of his dear friend. 

Aziraphale preens himself a bit, stretching to make sure nothing’s broken, and he looks up to find Crowley stricken. And looking pale and thin. He’s shivering, and his trousers are slipping down off his hips. He sways on his feet and Aziraphale embraces him, shocked to find Crowley’s body temperature freezing cold. He miracles a blanket to wrap around the demon’s shoulders and holds his gaunt cheeks between his warm palms.

“My dear, are you injured? You look positively awful! Like a Famine victim! Is everything all right?”

Crowley, shivering still, nods. “Rapid digestion. You unfroze my digestive system, so now it’s catching up. It feels bloody awful, but I’m fine.” He places his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. “I…hate how much I enjoyed eating you.” He digs his chin into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “It made me feel so…demonic.”

The angel embraces him tightly. “Love…you are a demon. And I know that doesn’t help, but…there are certain things in your nature you can’t change. But you don’t need to feel bad about something just because it’s an instinct.” He smiled, tucking Crowley under his chin when the demon wrapped his long arms around his waist. “You’ve never been any kind of proper demon. You’re kind and gentle and protective, and I love you for all of those things. Don’t forget, I elected to be swallowed twice!”

Crowley chuckled into his neck. “So…you enjoyed it, too?”

“Well…it wasn’t unpleasant,” Aziraphale replied. “I wouldn’t really say that being amongst stomach acid was enjoyable…but I like making you happy, and if that makes you happy, I would do it again. Although,” he slid his hands down to Crowley’s hips, feeling the bones through the skin. He could sense how starved Crowley was after that ordeal. “I think it might be best to have lots of food on hand in the future to eat afterwards. What do you say to dinner? I know a cozy little restaurant that always runs the heat at full blast.”

Crowley hissed softly, a snake’s version of a purr. “That soundsss lovely, Aziraphale,” he sighed.

“Excellent! I do hope you’re in the mood for sushi! Are you quite all right to drive?”

~

Once Crowley had stopped shivering, he decided everything was going to be fine. 

The Bentley had miraculously had heated seats, and he wasn’t quite sure whether that was the car or Aziraphale, but it didn’t matter because the heat soothed his bones enough so that he could at least drive. And sitting in the nearly sweltering (to everyone else, that is; to him, it was a perfect temperature) sushi restaurant drinking warm and sweet jasmine green tea, letting the liquid settle heavily in his belly, was probably as close to Heaven as any demon can get.

Although, once the food was brought out, Crowley found he might have to amend his statement, particularly after his stomach started to growl. Memories of how warm and sleepy and full he’d felt when Aziraphale was in his stomach flooded his head. It would be nice to have that repeated, but with something he could actually digest (and call a meal without feeling guilty) this time.

Bless Aziraphale for ordering everything on the menu. Crowley hadn’t had sushi in ages, and it looked delicious. Crowley reached for his chopsticks, but his fingers twitched, making it impossible to wield them correctly. His fingers were still a bit numb, it seemed; Aziraphale was right to worry, it seemed. He was practically hypothermic! 

The angel must’ve seen him struggling, for he kindly selected a roll from one of the plates in front of him, gently dipping it in soy sauce before lifting it to Crowley’s lips. “Here, love. Try this. It’s a dragon roll, one of my personal favorites.”

Crowley leaned forward across the small table, opening his mouth and letting Aziraphale feed him. The demon curled his tongue around the morsel, chewing thoughtfully. The bright flicker of spice across his tongue was a welcome surprise, as was the salty tang of the soy sauce, which perfectly complimented the flavor of the shrimp and the crunch of cucumber. He chewed it up thoroughly before swallowing, licking his lips. “It’s good,” he said, his voice coming out low and covetous without his permission. “I can see why you like it.”

“Here. Have another.” Aziraphale plucked up another piece of the roll and offered it to Crowley, who happily took it without thinking. 

Dinner continued in this way, even after Crowley’s fingers had warmed up enough to use his chopsticks. Aziraphale would chatter on about this and that, and Crowley would listen, taking the offered sushi bite by precious bite. He found that the salmon roll was his least favorite, which was unsurprising given his distaste for salmon in general. (He wasn’t fond of the texture of it, nor its color. And it didn’t go well with tartar sauce, which was the perfect thing to pair with fish, especially if it was fried, like fish fingers. Mmm.) But he was shocked at how much he enjoyed everything else. Even the vegetable rolls had their own unique feel to them (being a serpent and mostly carnivorous, he’d rarely found vegetables to be appetizing on their own), and he quite liked the cream cheese and avocado rolls, finding them creamy and delightful. By the time he’d decimated nearly everything in front of them, Crowley felt warm and content and sleepy. His stomach was full, though not stuffed, and it was an overall comfortable feeling. Certainly after his ordeal in Hell, he was prepared to sleep for a week.

(It wasn’t even any kind of important meeting, anyway. His old contact merely wanted to know if there was any lust to be found in London, as she wanted to go topside for a while. Crowley had explained to her that, yes, lust was everywhere, but she had better stay out of his way, which she agreed to.)

“I wonder if we might try something,” Aziraphale said casually as they were leaving the restaurant arm in arm. “I was thinking about it while watching you eat, which was really quite pleasurable, by the way.”

“Mmm?” Crowley hummed, watching Aziraphale from behind his glasses. 

“I wonder…if I could sit inside you now, while you’re digesting? I’d really hate to have you freeze your digestion again, dear boy,” he cut in over Crowley’s attempt at protest, “and you’ve got enough food in your stomach that I think it would take a rather long time for my body to digest. Besides, I could miracle myself out before that even began.” The angel’s eyes were warm and twinkling. “What do you say?”

Crowley wet his lips, unable to deny that the proposition was appealing. “Eager to get inside of me, huh, angel? I thought you’d prefer trying to get into my pants.”

Aziraphale gasped, swatting at Crowley. “Why I never—! You little devil!”

Crowley grinned as he started up the Bentley, but he sobered quickly. “Are you really sure about this, angel?”

“Yes. To be frank, I was quite curious what it would feel like if you were a great deal fuller than I’m sure you are now, if I would have to squeeze into little nooks and crannies, fill you out a little.” 

Crowley blushed. “Angel…”

“It’s perfectly safe, really,” Aziraphale reasoned. “As I said, I can miracle myself out of you at any time. And you can get some much-needed rest. You look exhausted, dear heart.”

The demon sighed deeply. “…not going to lie, I’m tired enough to sleep for a few days.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Crowley bit his lip. It really didn’t feel like something he should be indulging in but, well…who was he to resist his angel anything? No matter how strange the request.

~

Crowley got himself comfortable in bed, buried amongst his silk sheets, silk pajamas caressing his skin like so many kisses, pillows galore surrounding him like a hidey hole, and one very kind, well-loved, and selfless angel sitting on his tongue.

‘Ready?’

‘Yes. Go ahead, love.’

Crowley lay flat on his back, tilting his head back against his pillows. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He could feel his throat working, moving the tiny angel down his throat. His hands slid down to his slightly raised midsection, which already felt a bit tight from the rice, waiting. 

And then, like a blessing (except it didn’t hurt at all), his stomach filled out even more, rising up as if he’d become suddenly pregnant. He muffled a burp, unable to help himself. ‘Aziraphale…did you make yourself bigger than before?’

‘I did, rather. Wanted to test it out. How does it feel, love?’

Crowley stretched lazily. ‘Like heaven.’

‘Good. You should sleep, love.’

Crowley yawned. He could feel his stomach begin to digest, but he could also feel Aziraphale miracling more food into his stomach, to keep his body from digesting him. ‘You sure you’re all right down there?’ He ran a hand down the crest of his belly, sighing deeply. 

‘I’m not going to stay long. Just until you fall asleep, love.’

Crowley hummed, certain Aziraphale could hear that. He closed his eyes, shifting until he was curled protectively around his stomach. Smiling, he finally gave in to sleep.

~

Crowley awoke to sunlight and soft kisses being pressed along his temple. “Wake up, love,” Aziraphale purred, his voice unbearably soft and sweet.

The demon obeyed, slowly opening his eyes, blinking in the light. His stomach still felt full, which was odd considering he should’ve been finished digesting hours ago. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Three days.” Aziraphale smiled. He was dressed comfortably in a warm knitted cardigan and Crowley hissed, burrowing his face into it. “I miracled some books to keep myself busy. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Cheeky,” Crowley chuckled. “You were miracling me full.”

“Well, yes, but only because you were so very hungry.” The angel’s well-worn fingers traced a pattern through his hair, making the demon melt under his touch with a pleased hiss. “Honestly, how you can stand to starve yourself…I can’t imagine.”

Crowley shrugged. “I told you. I’m not the same demon.” He hesitated, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s middle. “I…I missed you. When I thought you were dead, I…! And even after. You know if I was human and seeing therapists, they’d probably say I had PTSD. I googled it,” he added to Aziraphale’s questioning noise. “And snakes, as you saw, don’t keep food down when they’re stressed.”

“I see.” Aziraphale’s fingers stilled, gripping a shock of his hair. Crowley tilted up into it, sighing. “Darling, why ever didn’t you tell me?” He sounded hurt.

Crowley shifted, looking up at Aziraphale. “I didn’t want to worry you. I’m sorry, love. Really, I am. If I could make it up to you…”

“Well,” Aziraphale’s eyes gleamed, and Crowley could see a well-practiced tempter hiding behind angelic Grace. He was in for it now. Perfect. “You could stay full for a while longer.” The angel’s other hand slid down, rubbing against Crowley’s firm stomach. The demon moaned unexpectedly, unfolding like a flower. “Good?”

“Gnk,” said Crowley, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Keep doing that, angel…that’s lovely.”

Aziraphale obliged. Every time Crowley’s stomach began to digest, it would magically fill up once more. The demon suspected his corporation might put on a few pounds, seeing as he was just lazing in bed all day and getting as full as he dared to, but, he thought, that didn’t matter. It might finally help chase the chill away, at least. (He relished the thought of not needing so many blankets and layers in the wintertime.)

“Next time,” Crowley hummed, “I want to taste all the food you’re putting inside me.”

Aziraphale bent down to kiss his forehead. “I think that would be fantastic.”


End file.
